


Thirty Words of Clu

by sandpapersnowman



Category: Tron (1982), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: 30 Day Fandom Challenge, 30 Days of Writing, Circuit Touching, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry i couldnt think of a better title holy shit  
> or a bETTER SUMMARY SORRY

At first, things had been simple enough. Just he, him, and their creator, their benevolent god of a best friend. They had the same purpose, the same meaning. They guarded the world when Flynn was away.

They put their trust in each other.

They were going to create the perfect system.

They were betrayed.


	2. Accusation

It’s easy to yell at a wall. It’s very, very easy. There’s no taking responsibility for its hurt feelings, no getting talked over, no fighting; it’s one-sided, and simple. It’s harder to yell at a wall when it was once your friend and advisor, your trusted bodyguard. You can tell a wall you hate it as many times as you want, and you can tell a wall it should have been derezzed cycles ago.

Once you’ve accused the wall, though, does the accusation bounce off, or sink in? More importantly, if your friend might still be somewhere behind that wall, does he hear the apologies? Does he feel the warm breath on his collarbone when you beg forgiveness and wish he were there?

 


	3. Restless

It’s no good. None of it. The programs they’ve been seeing in the Arena lately have all been borderline useless. His Rinzler had torn through them like it was nothing, not bothering to put any finesse into it. He doesn’t waste any time on them at all, just throws the discs where they need to be to make contact (there have been a few rounds where he hadn’t even bothered using both discs). He excels to the final round, derezzes the competitor, and is brought back to Clu.

After the last round, while they wait for enough programs to begin again, Clu is supposed to oversee Rinzler’s recharge. He’s supposed to need a recharge, it’s supposed to be to keep him at the top of his game, but at this point, he hardly ‘breaks a sweat’.

He hates when the Flynn in him has phrases he understands but can’t apply.

Rinzler doesn’t say it, because of course he can’t, but he feels it too. The tension. The need for something more, for a challenge.

Bringing him onto his lap and running his fingertips over Rinzler’s circuits does help a bit. Once Rinzler’s purring steadily and arching up against his hands, he figures the annoyance has been at least been put off enough that he won’t have to chew his way through a few guards later. In a little while, after Rinzler’s circuits have been rubbed purple and practically raw, he’s simply melted across Clu in his chair rather than buzzing with restlessness.


	4. Snowflake

He would gag if he could. The first time he sees a voxel from a derezzed Arena combatant flicker in the air just right, and Flynn’s voice intrudes in his head, comparing it to a ‘snowflake’, he sneers as hard as he can and it’s still not enough.

The idea of a tiny piece of frozen ‘water’ that falls from the sky and has beautiful, entirely unique patterns but is too fucking tiny for humans to see the patterns anyway, is the dumbest goddamned thing he’s ever heard of.


	5. Haze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay some more porny cluzler stuff my bad

It’s a crackled, staticky thing that creaks out from under Rinzler’s helmet, but it’s as close as Clu can get to having him make genuine sounds. It’s so hard to get him like this, into this state; while the lack of circuits is useful for a program like Rinzler, all speed and stealth and silence, it makes working him up a chore.

It’s actually a bit funny how different their circuitry seems to portray them, Rinzler literally presenting as all business and no pleasure.

It’s only moments like this that he has Rinzler pull back the helmet, reveal the face of his old friend pulled into a blissed-out expression.

He’s completely out of it with pleasure, nothing mattering except the feeling of Clu’s fingers digging into his suit, and it’s all he needs, it’s all he’ll ever need.

Clu could nearly say the same, kissing the corner of Tron’s--Rinzler’s, he means--mouth, and feeling breath huff out against his cheek.

His fingers curve around Rinzler’s hips and stroke against the small circles at his lower back, and he arches up against Clu enough to grate his own, more extensive circuitry, and Clu smiles and shudders.

Rinzler's hands finally move up to grab at Clu, petting at his chest so desperately that he's practically scratching at Clu's circuits. He's too shaky now to properly stroke or tease them, and Clu's entirely fine with the less-than-precise pleasure being sacrificed when it means he has his Rinzler trembling under him.

Clu can feel his shaky breath now, Rinzler's mouth open and pressed up against Clu's throat. One of Clu's hands moves from circuits to the side of Rinzler's face, cupping it gently, and Rinzler presses so hard into it he almost thinks Rinzler is trying to push it away. He's not, though; the look he's giving Clu is too adoring, too hopeful. Tron may want to push away, but Rinzler doesn't.


	6. Flame

'Like a flame' was a phrase Flynn had always been quite fond of. He uses it to describe the look in his new son's eyes, and, when the ISOs surface, then they are the flames.

Clu has seen them in Flynn's memories, and knows their heat and how they flicker, but he doesn't quite comprehend how some things can be compared to flames in the way Flynn compares them. He gets what he means, but he doesn't feel the relation.

When he repurposes Tron into his Rinzler and watches his circuits flicker to orange, he feels what Flynn always meant. It's new life, bursting into existence right in front of his eyes, and it's _his_.

He’s struck the match, and now he has a flame of his own.


	7. Formal

Flynn has this word in his head. 'Formal'. He dressed 'formally' for his wedding, and for some business events, and while Clu understands it's to dress nicer, he doesn't see why they wouldn't just dress nicely all the time.

Well… He supposes he understands it a little, when he makes his first speech as the official ruler of the grid and has someone bring him a thick, intimidating cape to drape over his shoulders and hang down to his knees.


	8. Companion

In his first moments, it was just him, Flynn, and the near-pristine silence of the Grid only interrupted by the deep hum of energy that was always faintly there. He came into existence staring into the eyes of his creator, something he later knows no other program has experienced, and something probably none will ever experience again.

It had been just them for a while, the two of them planning as Clu familiarized himself with his thoughts and memories.

Then, there was Tron. Somewhere, he knew that Tron had been on this Grid before him, but this Tron was different. Updated, he thinks. Tron seems a little confused at first looking at two exact copies of the same face and body, but within a certain distance, they were obvious. The power of a User was so clear when the Grid was still so blank, and it buzzed in the atmosphere almost enough to reach out and touch.

Things began to change. Flynn's idea of the perfect system became imperfect, and his focus was lost entirely when the ISOs appeared. Clu said nothing at first, waiting for him to regain his focus and return to building the perfect system with him, but that day didn't seem to be any time soon.

Then came the day that they were no longer Flynn, Tron, and Clu, but just Clu and Tron. What used to be Tron, anyway. He had found a way to repurpose Tron, to keep him on his side just in case he and Flynn didn't join him. He could stand to lose Flynn, because it was him who betrayed him, but he wouldn't be able to create the perfect system on his own. He'd just be a rogue program then.

After some time of silence broken only by the odd, low rumble Tron began emitting when Clu had broken him, he eventually decided on a name he could call him without being reminded too much of how things used to be. Rinzler. He's Rinzler.

Clu and the Rinzler become two of the most feared names on the Grid. The disappearance of both the User and Tron are widely talked about, but never in the presence of the guard Clu begins keeping throughout the city.

Rinzler becomes his bodyguard, his entertainment, his right-hand program, his everything. He's not Tron, but he's obedient. He stays quiet and does as he's told to.

He's still not Tron.


	9. Move

It's unspoken, all in the way Clu narrows his eyes at Rinzler.

They're entirely alone. Clu is sitting at his throne, and when he beckoned Rinzler over, Rinzler sat on the arm of it.

Now he's sitting in Clu's lap, straddling him on the wide seat and hunched over him as much as possible. Clu can see his reflection in Rinzler's helmet.

Rinzler's been running his fingers over the stripes of circuits on Clu's chest, and now they're beginning to tinge into a deep purple wherever Rinzler rubs.

Clu runs his hand under Rinzler's helmet, to tell him to take it off, and it pulls back to reveal Tron's smirking face. It's damaged and his expression is one Clu never saw on Tron, but it's still the face he was once used to seeing smile every cycle.

Rinzler presses closer, his chest covering Clu's, and Clu still finds it so empowering that the most dangerous thing the Grid has ever known is here on his lap, waiting to please him.

Clu can feel Rinzler along the circuits in his chest and his legs, and he relaxes back against his throne and gives Rinzler the look he always waits for when they're like this.

The one that simply says, _move_.


	10. Silver

Flynn’s hair had begun to go gray, but his never would. It hadn’t been entirely clear if Clu would be permanently frozen the moment he was creating, but when Flynn’s hair began catching the light differently, and he’d asked Tron off to the side if his was doing the same, it became apparent.

It was sobering, in a way. They were no longer exact copies, and that had been such an appeal to Flynn that he worried he’d be replaced once they looked too different.

His nervousness became more and more apparent, until finally, Flynn ran his fingers through Clu’s hair and fondly silvered it for him.

After a lot of time has passed, and things have changed, Clu slicks his hair back like Flynn used to and Tron watches color bleed back into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it doesnt exactly fit the legacy timeline shhh just go w it


	11. Prepared

It’s easy to prepare an army; careful planning, proper distribution of resources, the right leader. You can never be prepared to kill your creator, though. It’s odd to think about.

The fact that he’s a User, for example; he won’t fall apart neatly like a program and return to the system with quiet dignity. He’s not entirely sure what _will_ happen, honestly; there’s the chance that the system will claim him as its own, but if it doesn’t, what then? Build a memorial? House his body somewhere? Find a way to spit it back out into the User’s world?

Despite how much Flynn will deserve it, despite the satisfaction he’s sure he’ll feel once it’s done, there is still a small, small part of him that wants to plead with Flynn and make him see the right things, cling to him and grab him and look him in the eye and show him the truth.

He tried that, once, and it wasn’t worth watching the look on Flynn’s face shift as he begged.

He hopes that piece of him dies with Flynn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha oh man this one hurt a lil
> 
> also tho i feel like a body would just perfectly mummify on the grid ya dig


	12. Knowledge

He has all these memories from Flynn. Trees, water, watching the world change and evolve around him as he grew taller and larger. It’s nothing like the Grid; he knows one is meant to be a mockery of the other, but how could anyone live in a world like that and be happy?

Clu could fix it. He knows he can.

He’s seen the way things work through his User’s eyes, and he sees what drives the Users there.

People, he reminds himself. They aren’t ‘Users’ there, they’re all just people. Humans. Practically nothing compared to the inhabitants of the Grid. Still with their own systems of oppression and using others to climb higher, but still with so few redeeming features.

He inherited too much experience; even though Tron knows things from before they rebuilt the Grid, he doesn’t know what Flynn knows, doesn’t constantly have unfamiliar thoughts intruding on him.

He takes so much inspiration from the faded ideas in Flynn’s head, of tall, awe-inspiring buildings and long stretches of grainy wastelands surrounding an otherwise flawless city.

Skyscrapers. Deserts. Oceans.

Biomes. Those don’t really exist on the Grid. He knows about lush forests and humid swamps and smoggy, full cities. Just the concept of smog is weird, as well as the idea of humidity. He can compare it to the weight of the air on the Grid, sure, but it doesn’t fluctuate like it does out there, and there aren’t _hundreds_ of them; you’re either in the developed areas, or you’re not.

There’s so much… _Sound_ , too. People talking as they walk, their communication devices making an infinite range of noises and trills and beeps when other people, elsewhere, send them signals. Music, like at the End of Line, but there’s so, so many kinds. Too many. There’s too much to choose from, and some of it is so unpleasant and disruptive, he doesn’t _get_ it.

He takes a shaky breath. It’s too much some days-- _millicycles_ , not _days_.

He laughs, angry and snorted out. He can’t even get away from the Flynn in him when he’s letting his mind wander about how much he hates it.


	13. Denial

Rinzler is anything but Tron, and Rinzler is nothing _but_ Tron. Everything about him reads like his old friend, his old ally; he’s never relaxed, always in a position to strike, never anything but alert. 

He used to tease Tron about it, when things had been easier and… Not like this. Would joke with him about how, once the system was perfect, maybe he’d get to lighten up. No more big tough guard dog.

Now, that’s all he is. Guard Dog. Pet. Obedient. There’s fragments of Tron in him, he knows. He’s seen them slip when he pushes him too far, makes Rinzler do too much. Answer too many questions or think too hard about his loyalty and the unwavering devotion he feels for Clu.

That wasn’t totally necessary. Not really. He could keep rebooting him if he swayed, if just the military programming and general dedication to ‘the cause’ wasn’t enough to keep him in line.

But… Hell, man, it wouldn’t be worth it. One hard reboot and some tinkering with his basic instincts, desires, motivations, morals, and everything else that made him who he was takes less time and effort than having to redo half the work every couple hundred millicycles.

Plus, Rinzler himself wasn’t given any extra programming besides sheer precision. His skills, his abilities, his body language--all Tron.

Not that that matters, anyway. Tron is long dead, Rinzler is here, and he has no regrets.


	14. Wind

There is a _kind_ of wind on the Grid. The atmosphere shifts and changes with the energy as any environment’s would. You can’t usually feel it unless you’re high above the city or on the outskirts of what’s been built; it’s gentle, and… Warm. It’s like someone huge breathing down the back of your neck, and it’s either flowing or it’s deathly still. 

It feels more like static than air. Everything on the Grid has its own energy, its own feeling about it, but the wind disrupts all of that.

The wind keeps him from feeling everything the way he should. It’s a brief interference, nothing too hellish, but it’s still something he can’t stop. He doesn’t _control_ it, and he hates that.

A breeze makes the entire Grid tense. You can almost feel Clu seething over it until it stops, enough so that some joke, out of earshot, that the heat on the wind is actually from Clu’s anger.


	15. Order

_Order. Noun. The arrangement or disposition of people or things in relation to each other according to a particular sequence, pattern, or method, or an authoritative command, direction, or instruction._

He scoffs. He hates that thinking on a word too long does this. Brings up every possible definition of it, from some database somewhere that he’s still hooked into while he’s trapped in this system.

It sounds too clinical.

 _Too neat. Too in order_ , he thinks, grinning.

‘Order’ isn’t a straight line of programs. ‘Order’ would mean the perfect system, finally. It means the strictness and fearful respect that follows him across the Grid, the straightened backs when he approaches and the tension in the air at the idea of _dis_ order in his presence.

_Order. Verb. To give an authoritative direction or instruction to do something, or request something to be made, supplied, or served._

That’s too neat, too. He doesn’t _order_ his army, he _commands_ it. _Controls_ it. They’re an extension of his power and they should be seen as such, not as programs willing to do as he says.

They are that, too, but more importantly, they just _do_.

A loud purr against his thigh brings him back to the moment, with Rinzler kneeling between his legs.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and pets Rinzler’s hair back.

It _is_ rude of him to get distracted at a time like this; they don’t do this often. The flesh between his legs doesn’t work like other programs’, and they rarely have enough time alone that Rinzler can retract his helmet and take his time.

It takes longer than touching his circuits, and feels different, and overall, he prefers circuit stimulation to--

\-- _a blowjob_ \--

\-- _this_ , but there’s still something charming watching Rinzler try to get him to climax with it.

Clu smiles at him when Rinzler hesitates. He has faint fake memories, from Flynn, that this won’t be right; it should be wet with saliva and hot from a User, human body, not dry because a program has no use for spit and warm from the static temperature of the Grid, but, again, he’s not in it for the feeling.

He smirks.

Another kind of order: the one that puts someone on their knees for you, and the one that tells them,

“Go on.”


	16. Thanks

“Thanks, buddy.” A pat on the back.

“Thanks, Clu.” A ruffle of fingers through his hair.

“ _Oh_ ,” a moan, and then “ _Thanks_ , sweetheart,” when Clu’s hand finally stills on his cock, white fluid dripping over his fingers and dissipating when it hits the floor of the Grid, Flynn still arched up and panting. ‘Thanks’. As though this was just a fun little favor rather than Clu desperately trying to win approval with his friend, his _creator_.

He never thanks Rinzler. Having him under him or on top of him when they touch each other isn’t a favor. Having Rinzler at his side as his friend and partner and peer isn’t a favor. It’s an honor. A privilege.

Every time he holds his old friend’s face in his hands, he’s thankful. But he doesn’t thank him.


	17. Look

For all the reflective surfaces on the Grid, Clu would rather derez than look at himself too long.

He starts thinking about Flynn. About how he was made, and how he came into this world looking himself in the eye.

It wasn’t _really_ him, though, of course. He would never be _good_ enough to be Flynn. An exact copy, but still not _him_.

He wonders if Flynn ever thinks the same thing, if he avoids his reflection too. He was never too vain once he was out of his twenties, he can’t imagine he keeps much around for grooming, but he wonders if he goes out of his way to look at his reflection.

It strikes him that maybe Flynn’s considered trying again. Making another Clu, one who’s actually _good_ this time. Anger flares up in him stronger than he knew programs were even capable of feeling, which just reminds him he’s _not_ one, he’s a demi-User, and he’ll never fit in as a User _or_ a Program, and…

He takes a shaky breath.

He’s better than this. He’s better than _Flynn_.

He yells and throws the chrome apple as hard as he can anyway.


	18. Summer

Seasons are another thing from outside the Grid. More leftover memories from Flynn, and _User_ , he’s tired of them. The idea of it being an uncomfortable temperature for so many cycles, and it being expected and tolerated is terrible.

Flynn would go to the pool in the summer. He was familiar with the concept of water, and familiar with what it was like to swim in a pure energy spring, Flynn had made sure to show him and Tron that, but he still doesn’t understand the idea of it being cold.

Energy isn’t like water, it’s like… Atoms. Everything is energy, but the ‘liquid’ energy they consume is like pure, condensed _life_.

Summer is stupid, and he doesn’t know why he was even thinking about it, but… It does remind him it's been a while. He should take Rinzler to the springs again soon.

**Author's Note:**

> did you know you can find me on [tumblr](http://sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com/ao3direct)? : O


End file.
